


Misleading Whispers

by Arithanas



Category: The Borgias (2011)
Genre: Canon Gay Character, Canon Gay Relationship, Inspired by Poetry, M/M, Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-27
Updated: 2013-06-27
Packaged: 2017-12-16 06:29:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/858930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arithanas/pseuds/Arithanas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A recount of a lazy afternoon at Micheletto's loft and the power of poetry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Misleading Whispers

**Author's Note:**

> Written in reply to this prompt left in [The Borgias Kink Meme](http://borgiaskink.livejournal.com/):
> 
>  **Micheletto/Pascal**  
>  I don't care where, how and all that as long as we get nice smut - there is not enough hot!man sex out there atm

It was one of those rare days, Pascal was getting used to them.

Micheletto arrived when daylight was shining yet, he was covered with dust and the satisfied smile of a man who has worked productively, his sword was carefully placed over the table before he dropped into the coarse mattress. Most of the time, Micheletto fell flat on his back and took a nap, without fanfare; it was his way to say he was comfortable with the company. Other times, like today, Micheletto did the exactly opposite; he plunged in the bed, yes, but he threw his head back and invited Pascal to join him for something other than sleep with an eyebrow barely raised and a grunt. Something outside aroused his loins and he was ready to soothe them with a vigorous coupling before diner.

Pascal learned to recognize those gazes and the effect they carry, that's why he shook his head and feigned to be enraptured by Catullus’ words; a hard task when one tried to stifle laughter at the contemptuous snort Micheletto gave to his lover once he noticed that the unrest of his nether regions was not of Pascal's concern.

The nap was taken, for lack of anything better thing to do.

Pascal waited until Micheletto was still, he didn't want to disturb the peace; Pascal didn't need to think on how to extrude small pieces of information from Micheletto while he was asleep. Rufio was not paying him enough to discern, through silences and grunts, the strategies of the enemy. Occasionally, it was only a word and Pascal had to search confirmation in squares and markets, since not all the other members of Cesare Borgia’s entourage were so closemouthed; others were small pieces of careless information, like the pain on Micheletto’s back due to days on horseback or the small trinkets Micheletto brought back home before going to one of his expeditions.

On days like today, Pascal was wondering if there was a sufficient amount of coins to silence the little voice telling him that it was far too risky to betray the man. The answer was always undoubtedly practical: if he escaped Micheletto’s clutches, whatever he got was more than enough. Pascal had to find a way to get rid of such thoughts; those were far too grim for a man who was head over heels for the devil, especially if he wasn’t sure he wanted to escape because, at least some parts of him were madly in love with the man, and those parts would miss Micheletto. That was why Pascal refused the possibility of a barely nude, and bruise-inducing, quick fuck; a very amusing and gratifying activity, but brief and brutal too. Pascal knew that Micheletto could be a gentle lover, a treasure trove of kisses and caresses; he just needed the right incentive.

Once a faint snore filled the bed, Pascal went up from his chair and went to prepare something to dine together; he took Micheletto’s sword from the table and hanged it from a nail, not without noticing the myriad of scratches in the scabbard. A dangerous man, Pascal should remember that. His hands worked mindlessly, picking up a knife to retire the rind of the cheese and cut it on small bite size pieces because Micheletto liked the salty rinds for a snack and bread and cheese are as good dinner as any, then Pascal set his mind into cut up some slices of dried meat to accompany the cheese. He raised the knife and he before could put it into use a couple of strong arms caught him from behind, spooking the living lights out of him.

“Sweet…” mumbled a hoarse voice by his ear and Pascal relaxed at the familiar sensation of warm breath against his nape, “You smell so sweet, my dear boy…”

“And you, gentle sir, smell ripe.”

“I'm a working man,” the nonchalant reply was accompanied by a quick grip to Pascal's crotch.

“Who is holding a grudge against water?”

Micheletto retired his hand with a grunt. There was a good head beneath that unruly mane of fair hair, he need not too many words to know that mean he must clean himself a little, though that didn’t impeach him to steal some cheese rinds. Pascal threaten him mockingly with the knife and the most charming smile bloomed on Micheletto’s face before he scamper like a naughty child to wash himself.

With the sound of splashing water as background noise, Pascal arranged their dinner plate with a small pot of oil to drizzle the day old-bread; a simple dinner but the best one both of them could muster; Micheletto came shirtless and bottomless to the mattress, long hair dripping cold water, a wet hand caressed Pascal’s cheek before a wet kiss was placed on his lips and Pascal obliged happily, for the tongue and lips on his mouth were more than deft.

“I’ll take you to the Vatican tomorrow,” Micheletto said once the kiss was over, “To see the nice paintings, eh?”

“I would like that.” Pascal was aware that kind of spying opportunities would be sparse and he better be ready to make the most out of it. “I would like it very…”

“How about a proper thank you?” Micheletto interrupted him, one of his hands toying with Pascal’s shirt.

“First, dinner, you horny lust hound,” Pascal replied with a small chuckle.

“I can’t have enough…” Micheletto followed his cue and tore a piece of the bread before dipping it into the oil.

“Of the bread?”

“Of you, boy.”

Pascal was befuddled and ashamed, he was enjoying the time, but Micheletto fell hard for him, and that feeling was getting stronger by the day. While Pascal dipped his bread into the oil, he ditched his hopes to ever tire Micheletto in bed; a man this besotted would never get bored of the object of his affections. Pascal was eating sloppily, his mind was wandering into the dark realm of implications, oil dripped from his hand to his chest and his mind barely register the drops; but the man at his side was vigilant and, in want of napkins or another rag, he approached his lips to the oil and licked the skin clean, sending lustful shivers to Pascal's spine, though it seems without forethought because that done, Micheletto returned to his bread and cheese rinds. He always left the best bits for Pascal.

"Should I remove my shirt?" Pascal asked with low voice.

“That way you won’t risk stains…”

The commentary was non-committal but, by the stiffening on his neck, Pascal would wager Micheletto was suppressing an eager nod. Charming, endearing Micheletto, who can tell apart ‘no’ from ‘keep going’; Pascal felt the sudden need to praise him and words came to his mouth as he shed his shirt.

“Blond hairs, handsome face, white and tender neck,” Pascal recited in Latin, he would translate the words, but he just like to see the confusion on Micheletto’s face.

Micheletto didn’t disappoint him, his head was tilted a little and his eyebrows were cocked barely a line, the morsel in his hand forgot while he tried to figure out if the words that had fallen on his ears were Italian or Latin. He was ravishingly handsome when his brain tried to understand what was happening around him.

“Smooth and soft voice,” Pascal insisted, his smile wide as he raised his hand to touch Micheletto’s beard as he munched the last bit of their dinner, “but how dare I try to describe you?”

The touch made Micheletto smile, at some level he was aware that Pascal was talking about him, and that please him; though he couldn't grasp out the meaning, the voice carried tenderness, such a scarce good that he had barely received drops from his mother and Augustino. His free hand grabbed Pascal’s wrist before planting a crude kiss in the palm of that hand. Actions spoke harder than voice when Micheletto was involved.

“You are all cute and sweet,” Pascal continued and his hand roamed Micheletto scarred back, “you have no defect…”

Micheletto’s hands, less romantic and more action prone were on Pascal’s hose fondling haphazardly everything that came under his fingertips, fighting to get rid of those offending pieces of clothe that granted him no pass to the object of his lust. Pascal helped him, out of habit, as unenthusiastically as he can be, he didn't want to be over eager and deprive Micheletto of his prey and of the satisfaction of conquer Pascal's will.

“But you cannot live chaste,” Pascal was reciting when Micheletto pushed him into the mattress and pin him with his body weight. Pascal laughed out at this frenzy and delivered the rest of the line with a big grin “because you are beautiful!”

“No more pretty words,” Micheletto talked into Pascal’s ear, the poke on Pascal’s thigh was a powerful argument to this begging. “Be silent, and kiss me, yes?”

Pascal was happy to oblige, he took Micheletto’s head with both hands and his lips, trembling, as if he was reluctant to surrender to the sweet caress. Oh, he was reluctant, of course, but only because the dish was still on the mattress and Micheletto was used to slip into the minimal cracks of any defense, Pascal knew it first-hand.

“The oil!” Pascal warned, feeling the dish was about to tip when Micheletto tried to push his weight forward.

Carelessly, for he was distracted in more pleasurable endeavors, Micheletto took the pot and placed by the side of the bed, then pushed the wooden dish aside without a regard for its contents. Apparently, he had plans for the oil, but Pascal had no time to elaborate: Micheletto complied and Micheletto demanded, and one can only lead a man by the nose for a while. They kissed, a deep, tender caress, Micheletto’s hand on Pascal’s gut, Pascal’s fingers on Micheletto’s mane.

A cascade of kisses poured from Micheletto’s mouth to Pascal’s neck, chest, tummy and just when Pascal was ready to be kissed more intimately, Micheletto shoot his head up and started again, from the lips, using his hands to stroke Pascal’s skin, his fingertips where playing Pascal’s nerves like an harp until his whole body was tingling and singing high for release. The silent Micheletto knew how to treat the ones he fancy.

There was a moment when Pascal parted his trembling lips to solicit more vigorous caresses, but Micheletto’s mouth was quick to drown the plea, to give a little more before it was asked for, one of his hands petted between  Pascal’s legs, touching his cock, fondling his balls, extracting wanton moans from Pascal’s throat, that he muffled with his kisses.

Micheletto stopped before Pascal’s pleasure overflowed; they gasped and looked at each other, sporting silly grins of desire and lust, hot breath shared while glistering, drenched chests beat together. After a moment to catch their breath, Micheletto’s hand glided beneath Pascal’s waist to encourage him to raised them a little, whilst his hand recovered the pot of oil; Pascal obeyed the cue, a puzzled smile on his face, until Micheletto poured a good deal of sweet olive oil on Pascal straining cock, the sensation of the oil running down on his balls and crack made him shudder before Micheletto’s hot mouth, surrounded his engorged flesh and sucked it earnestly. Before Pascal could get used to that gliding sensation of two full lips on his hard rod, a couple of crossed fingers poked his rear and, with the help of the oil, advanced further inside his body, making feel the full and wanton at the same time.

“Oh, GOD!” Pascal moaned, unable to receive such caresses passively.

Micheletto smiled when Pascal dug his heels deep into the mattress and put his back to work, bucking, while trying to pierce the mouth who pleasure him, though that didn’t hinder his advances, with one hand to support the small of his lover’s back, Micheletto taunted and teased the good spot in that narrow channel that had given him so much pleasure and seemed unable to expand enough to house his hard on, let alone the rough swaying a dick. Yet, Pascal moaned, while he shivered from pleasure, asking to be taken. A glance was enough to confirm that Pascal was ready to be mounted, but Micheletto, just for his pleasure, kept on sucking with careless regard, his fingers titillated Pascal until he could no more and satisfaction, distilled on small drops, were avidly drank by Micheletto.

Pascal gasped and shivered, a couple of strong arms were cradling him and a coarse beard was nuzzling his face; Micheletto was cuddling him with a faint smile in his lips and Pascal let him, it was a good place to be while he find his breath.

“Boy,” Micheletto called out once Pascal started to caress his chest and his haunches, “put that mouth of yours to good use…”

Pascal raised his head to question his lover, because he never asked for that pleasure before.

“Tell me now, in plain language, what were you saying in Latin,” Micheletto asked and kissed his forehead.

There was a soft smile on Pascal’s face; maybe they were ready to have another go before the day was over.

 

**Author's Note:**

> The poem Micheletto didn't let Pascal finish was this:  
>  _Crinis flavus, os decorum cervixque candidula_  
>  Sermo blandus et suavis; sed quid laudem singula?  
> Totus pulcher et decorus, nec est in te macula,  
> Sed vacare castitati talis nequit formula... 
> 
> _Crede mihi, si redirent prisca Jovis secula_  
>  Ganimedes iam non foret ipsius vernacula,  
> Sed to, raptus in supernis, grata luce pocula  
> Gratiora quiedem nocte Jovis dares oscula  
> ~Hilarius (1125)
> 
> Free translation of yours truly.


End file.
